BY THE MOUTH OF THE WHORE

To those whose words would slaughter me,
Your virtue's broken pottery;
 
You honor not my sacrifice-
By night your maid, by day a vice
That never sates your appetites;
 
Know this: my powers I constrain
For if you wish to cause me pain
My teeth may open up that vein
(And stain your pretty porcelain).
 
---
 
Note: this is a variation on a previous poem published here